When In Manchester
by Random-Musings
Summary: A power outage in the Evans' home leaves Lily and James in the dark over Christmas holiday.


A/N: This was written for Christine for the 2011 winter lilyjames_fest LJ. Enjoy!

* * *

When In Manchester

* * *

The alley off Brimley Road is as dodgy as can be, so apparating to the town of Cokeworth is always a pain in the arse. Lily's left foot lands in a small pile of smashed chips, and James barely avoids stepping on a broken beer bottle and an empty pack of Embassy cigarettes. It's all waterlogged, its stench mixing and mingling with the scent of afternoon rain soaking into asphalt. Graffiti lines the brick walls on their left and right. It's hardly the work of talented or seasoned artists; if anything, a group of neighborhood lads found a can of spray paint and decided to draw as many cocks as possible.

Lily makes a face at a formidably large sketch of a hairy pair of bollocks.

"_Brilliant,_" James laughs, heaving his weekend satchel further onto his shoulder. "I tried to do that to the Slytherin common room in fourth year. But Filch caught us."

"It won't be so brilliant for the one who has to come round and scrub and paint over 'wankstain' and bollocks," Lily says, making her way down the alley. The street beyond is drab and nearly deserted, completely void of holiday cheer. It's far from the nicest part of town, just a quick walk away from Spinner's End and the less-than-picturesque river. The mouldering mill looms over it all, a mere shadow of its former glory. A group of young teenagers run out of a nearby row house, bottle of cheap cider clutched in their hands like a bloody trophy.

Typical.

The grime lessens considerably as they walk down several windy roads and pass clusters of shops and the high street, and Christmas displays multiply tenfold. But the town's industrial nature lives on even in Lily's decidedly middle-class neighborhood. It's all too familiar for Lily, but James is gaping at their surroundings.

"Alright, posh boy?" Lily teases, poking his side.

"Posh boy?" James winces. "Is that your name for me now?"

"You've never been to a place like this before, have you?" Lily says, tightening her scarf around her neck. "Have you even stepped foot anywhere in Manchester before now?"

James shakes his head. "No, but it's actually got some fucking character. Unlike where I live."

"Well no, I'd imagine you don't have a greasy chip shop around the corner from your _manor_," Lily says. "Shame, really."

As Lily leads James through the small front gate and to the door of the Evans' red-brick terrace home, apprehension gnaws at her. It's not the usual jitters about introducing her boyfriend to her parents. It's simply the glaringly obvious, hideous fact: her house is hardly the lap of luxury James is used to.

"Here we are," Lily says. "It's not much but it's home."

"Not much?" James says, walking through the small foyer slowly. He continues through the kitchen. "It's brilliant. Look, a toaster! I love toasters."

She knows James has never experienced living in a Muggle home before, and there is something oddly enthralling about being in charge for once. She's so used to being made to feel as though she's playing in a world that isn't hers, a world she landed in by mere happenstance. She's been made to feel like such an outsider that as of late a bunch of barmy extremists-Death Eaters-are determined to _kill_ to emphasize the point. But this is _her_ world that James is mucking about in, now. _Her _world of electronic appliances, the television on BBC-2, and a—

"What's this?"

James make a beeline for the contraption standing in the middle of the living room. Garishly patterned, wallpapered rooms are accented with pine-paneled furniture, along with dozens of family photos and knicknacks.

"It's a Hoover," Lily laughs. "Basically, it sucks up all the dirt and dust and such from the floor. See, look."

Lily flicks the knob and it growls to life.

"_Shit!_" James leaps away, tripping over his shoes in the process and landing in a jumbled pile atop the well-worn couch cushions. "You could have warned me about the…the whatever it just did! _Fucking hell, _that thing is a _monster._"

"It's okay!" Lily insists, demonstrating its use with a long sweep of the carpet.

"Is it dangerous?" James' feet are hovering well above the ground. "For people. I mean, can you get stuck in there?"

"No!" Lily laughs, turning the Hoover off. "James Potter: Not afraid to fly hundreds of feet into the air, but nearly pisses himself over a Hoover. Brilliant. Great story to tell your mates next term, yeah?"

"Pissing myself wouldn't leave a very good first impression, would it?" James says, eyeing the Hoover as he slowly allows his feet to touch the ground.

"I'm afraid not, no," Lily sighs, patting him atop his mop of messy hair. "Come on, then. Let's see where my parents are hiding."

The meet-and-greet goes perfectly. Just as Lily suspected, her parents took to James straightaway. Even her father, skeptical of just about every man who so much as looked at Lily, was soon asking James about the ins and outs of Quidditch. Everyone seemed comfortable enough, drinking Earl Grey from old mugs. The apprehension Lily had been feeling melted away with each easy laugh, and every silly question James asked about that bloody Hoover. Everyone was grand—except for a very surly Petunia.

By the age of twenty, Petunia was already severe as woman twice her age. Since she moved out and met Vernon, Petunia seems to have given up on dressing like any ordinary girl of her age. Gone are Petunia's poor attempts at a Farrah cut or blue eyeshadow. They've been replaced by a tight bun and matronly clothing. She hasn't touched her tea, and with each mention of something magical, Petunia's face sours more and more. By the time James is rambling on about Wizarding currency and elves, Petunia eerily resembles a disgruntled hamster trying to eat its own teeth.

But at half-past one, Petunia is all smiles as she and Mr. and Mrs. Evans amble outside towards the car: Petunia conveniently planned an evening get together with Vernon and his parents, who happen to live a hour away. According to Petunia, it was date and time that simply couldn't be rescheduled during the hols. Lily knows it's complete bullshit, nothing more than a ruse to shorten her family's time with James. But if James is disappointed by their departure, he doesn't show it.

They've been watching a dreadful Christmas special on BBC for nearly an hour when, suddenly, the television turns off with a clank. The lamps follow suit. The only light left is the meager glow of the overcast sky outside, already darkening as the afternoon wanes into evening.

"What the fuck was that? _What happened to the telly_?" James asks. "And the lights."

"Shit," Lily walks around the living room, flicking various switches. "Power's out."

"Power?"

"Er, the electricity that keeps all of this running."

"It can just do that? Just bugger off when it wants?"

"Well, not exactly," Lily says. "Something must have caused it to go out. Maybe it's the high winds or something, not sure. It should come back soon."

"There's got to be some sort of spell to get it back on," James mutters. Lily feels James shift next to her, and she knows he's taking out his wand. "If I can just—"

"_No_, you'll probably end up blowing it up!" Lily says, grabbing hold of his wrist.

"Come on, Lily," James insists, pulling away from her grasp. I could probably put it back together if—"

"Wait," Lily says, lowering his hand to his lap. "I've got an idea. A challenge. No magic. No magic until the power comes back."

James scoffs. "Not much of a challenge, is it? Easy."

"Fine," Lily bristles, trying and failing to hide her smirk. "No magic for the entire weekend."

What little light streams in from outside vaguely illuminates James' face; she can barely make out his features, aside from his stupid hair, the frame of his glasses, and, of course, the very obvious downturned movement of his lips at Lily's last request.

"No."

"Oh come on, James."

"How am I supposed to do _that?_"

Lily rolls her eyes—it's moments like this when she's disgustingly aware of his privileged, pureblood upbringing. "I managed it every summer and Christmas holiday for six years, James. You can last three fucking days. You're in a Muggle home for the weekend, yeah? Act like a Muggle would. After all, when in Rome…"

"Rome?" James frowns. "This isn't _Rome_. This is _Manchester_."

**...**

Lily's room is a fire hazard. Dozens of candles line her desk and dressers, dripping wax in pools of blue and cream and pink. The flames flicker in an orange glow, illuminating walls covered in magazine cut-outs and posters. The scene could easily be romantic, if it weren't for the pair making their best frightening faces with torches placed under their chins.

"Can I keep this?" James asks in a casual forfeit as he passes a waning cigarette to Lily and wanders around the room, using the torch to illuminate the various knicknacks around Lily's room.

"Going to run off and join The Famous Five, are you?" Lily asks, taking a last, quick drag before stubbing it and wrapping it up in tissue, guaranteeing that no one in the family will stumble upon the remnants of Lily's occasional vice.

"Who?"

"It's a Muggle book series about these kids who go off on adventures and solve mysteries and catch thieves," Lily explains, absently playing with a hole in her jumper as she watches James rummage through her things. "Actually, you'd fit right in. You're always going off on stupid little adventures around the castle with your mates, yeah?"

"I'd be a damn good detective," James says, wielding the torch like a sword. "My first mission: Case of the Hidden Knickers Drawer."

"Oy!" Lily laughs, propping herself up on her elbows and watching James hop around her room. He opens any and all drawers with an air of seriousness, even scratches his chin and frowns in concentration as each successive drawer yields everything _but_knickers. Her giggles subside when James suddenly stands stock still, hovering over the least used of all the drawers. "I know for a fact that no knickers are in there."

James sets down the torch and turns around, one hand busying itself with his hair while the other clutches the corner of a creased photo. His laugh is as fraudulent as his smile.

Her gut churns: she knows what he's holding. She can still taste the dinner roast, feel the heat living room couch against her thighs, and _hear_ Severus ramble on about some potion as Top of the Pops plays in the background. The photo was her mum's idea, and though Severus protested, Lily bullied him into it. His smile is more of a grimace, contrasting with Lily's toothy grin.

"This is weird," James says, smile turning into a scowl the longer he stares at the photo.

"Put it back, James," Lily says, tone firm.

"When is it from?" James asks.

"Oh, just last night," Lily snaps. She leaps off of her bed and snatches the photo. "I gave ol' Sev a ring a ding ding and had him to come round for a bit of a photo shoot. Hope you don't mind. Fucking hell."

"Christ, Lily. I was just curious," James mutters.

Lily stares at the bent photo resting between her fingertips, and she can't deny the familiar ache, that deep pang that feels like sadness and anger and nausea clawing for dominance. Neither win, it's always a tie.

"Two years ago," Lily says, sounding distracted. "The summer before fifth year."

The glow of the candles make the moment feel far too intimate. Like oxygen to a starving flame, memories from that summer flood back to her. They're unforgiving, complete with the smell of summer rain, chips covered in gravy, and that shitty river.

The photo was hidden away out of sight for a reason.

"I know that you knew him before school but…I didn't know he lived nearby."

James' voice snaps her out of her haze. She folds the photo twice and throws it back into the drawer, closing it with a small smile. "You never asked."

Lily settles back into her bed, awkwardly and fruitlessly twisting the lamp switch on and off. The bed dips. James is sitting cross legged across from her, shoulders slumped, long limbs taking up so much room that the bed feels smaller than it already is.

"Sorry, I shouldn't have called it weird," James says, speaking to his knobby knees more than her.

Lily scoffs. "Well, you aren't wrong. It _is_ weird. Was, rather." She stretches out her legs, socked feet landing in James' lap. "You just don't get it."

"What I _get_," James starts, trailing his fingers along Lily's ankles. "Is that he's a piece of shit who probably wanks himself off to Dark Arts books."

"I'm not saying that he's not shit. I probably know that better than _anyone_," Lily says, pulling her legs towards her and bending them. "But there was more to him than that, you know."

James' laugh is disparaging, disbelieving. It only makes Lily feel _sicker._  
_  
_"He's the one who told me that I was a witch," Lily interrupts. James' sneer slides off of his face in an instant. Lily continues.

"I was nine years old and before that I had no fucking clue why I could do the things I did. I didn't know why I could make flowers move, or why I could turn Brussels sprouts into sweets when I had a tantrum, or why I could make all my hair grow back after a haircut. And let me tell you, Muggles aren't too keen on witnessing biscuits dance on their own accord either. I didn't believe him, of course. Calling someone a witch isn't exactly considered polite by Muggle standards. But he convinced me and he was right. He…he helped open up a new world for me, James. I was so excited to come to Hogwarts, we both were. And even after the sorting and the drama of Hogwarts, he was my_ best friend_. Even when he became closer to those _shit_ friends of his, I at least knew that I had the fucking summer, and I deluded myself into thinking things would get better, but they just got worse and—"

She realizes her breathing is coming in short pants, words rambling and running together as her throat grows tighter and tighter with every word, every memory pummeling into her like a series of punches straight to the gut. James just stares at her, brows furrowed in surprise.

"And do you know _why_ that photo was taken downstairs?" Lily's laugh is cold, humorless. "Because we bloody well weren't going to have cheesy photos taken of us at _his_ house. Because _his_ house was _shit._ All his dad does is drink and shout and berate or beat his mum right in front of him. His mum didn't even fucking care where he was at any fucking hour of the day. That house was_toxic_. That's why he was always around here, nearly every fucking day, every summer. We'd go anywhere just so he could be away from _them_ for as long as possible. He'd have a better meal around here than he would for an entire bloody week at his place because _they didn't fucking care_. Some people aren't as lucky as you are, you know. You've got parents that love you and you never have to worry about money, and—and I just _hate_ how much of me still worries about that prick."

The nausea comes rolling back full force as her eyes well up. She didn't expect it to happen, and she almost hates herself for it. She forces herself to laugh again and turns away from James.

"I'm sorry. I shouldn't have told you all of that," Lily whispers, opening her eyes and _just_ seeing the hazel of his eyes illuminated by the candlelight behind his thick, black rimmed glasses. "That was personal. Don't tell."

"Of course I won't tell." James squeezes her hand for emphasis.

"A day doesn't go by without thinking about him. And I _know_ he's knee deep in _shit_. I _know_. But I still care about him. I know that makes me weak but—" A hiccup. A sniffle. A sigh. "I _love_ him. I mean, no. Not like that, obviously. But. _Fuck._"

James leans towards Lily, hands outstretched. He wipes away the long trails of tears streaming down her cheeks with the pads of his thumbs. They aren't smooth or soft; they're callused and hardened from sport and other misadventures. Her eyes flutter closed at his touch.

"You're the last person I'd ever, _ever_, call weak," James says, uncharacteristically sheepish smile gleaming in the low light. "You're got the biggest fucking heart I've ever known. It's what makes you so bloody brilliant."

Lily laughs, but it sounds more like a sob, and a fresh wave of tears sprinkle James' thumbs. "I'm sorry, I just—"

James' mouth twitches into some semblance of a smile. "What the hell are you apologizing for? For having the nerve to care about someone who meant the world to you? Even if he doesn't fucking deserve it? I understand. Friendships can…can _gut you_, can't they? And sometimes it drives you crazy, but it's the best thing in the entire fucking world."

Lily nods and manages to smile through another dry sob. "Am I mad for not regretting a single thing? Even the times that makes me sick to my stomach to even think about? I'm so fucking _barmy_, aren't I?"

"Of course not," James replies in earnest. "Lily, listen to me: The only thing you're guilty of is being human."

There's a moment of silence that reaffirms what she's already grown to know. Lily reckons every witch or wizard of their age has changed in some way as of late. Whether from the realities of war, the pain of loss, or simply going through the motions and aging, they've all changed. But it's not always for the better.

But James…_James_ has changed for the better. And while it's not a new revelation by any means it's the little things he says, the little things that would normally fly under the radar, that mean the most. It's the reassurance, the trust that moves her more than anything else.

"Thank you," Lily says, voice barely above a whisper.

"For what?" James asks just as quietly, running a comforting hand through her hair. He moves his face closer to hers, the smell of milky tea managing to overpower the faint smell of cigarettes.

"For being the first person to truly listen," Lily says.

She feels lighter. Something within her chest blossoms, uncoils, and her lips spread into a wide smile.

Lily leans back into her pillows, grabs hold of James' shoulders, and pulls him towards her. He doesn't hesitate to capture her lips in a deep kiss, and she doesn't hesitate to trail her fingertips underneath his green jumper. She pulls her lips away and giggles when James' hips jolt against her, but then James' lips find the pulse point along her neck and laughter quickly subsides into gasps. It's not long before Lily pushes James off of her and switches places, straddling his hips with an impish smile. Her lips graze his, leaving bright red streaks of lipstick and heat in their wake. He calls her a tease, but elsewhere she can feel that he's not_really_ complaining.

None too gently, Lily rocks her hips, and James gulps for air. There is nothing sexy about it, or the crooked state of his glasses, but there is a rawness about it that runs a chill through her core that only intensifies as his hands grip her hips. Lily bends towards him, and just, _just_, hears James gasp, _fuck_, before she gently nips and tugs at his lower lip.

Just as his hands make their way onto her arse, Lily's bedside lamp illuminates to life.

"It's back on?" James squints, unaware of the lipstick smeared around his lips.

"No, must be a false alarm," Lily says, and flicks the light back off, once again washing them in shadow. "Now, where were we?


End file.
